Wherever I'm With You
by UA
Summary: Outside his bedroom window, a battlefield still burns. Spoilers for all seasons up to Season 7. 7.10 especially and who knows? Might be a little vague spoilage for TSF. But only in the most general sense. Rated M for language and sexual situations.


Outside his bedroom window, a battlefield still burns. Dying blood orange flames and ash. Thick curls of black smoke that block out the stars' light. Bodies and destruction everywhere, but Alexandria's still standing. And inside this room?

So are they.

This fight is over. More will come sure as the sun rises and sets, but Daryl's not concerned with that, least not tonight. Because she's here. She's finally fucking here, and he feels like his heart is at war with his lungs because the tired muscle is racing too fast, thumping frantically against his ribcage, and his lungs have ceased working altogether. She's here, bruised and bloody, just as unsteady on her weary feet as he is, and her eyes are soft. Shimmering pools of light in all the darkness that threatens to swallow him up, and _goddamn_. She's beautiful. He opens his mouth to tell her so, but she has other ideas.

"You said everyone was okay."

Should sound like an accusation coming from her lips, but it feels more like an acknowledgment. Like she's absolving him of his well-intentioned sin because she's crying, yeah. But she's looking at him with her fucking heart in her eyes, and the furious flutter of hope makes his throat grow tight, his own eyes grow damp, and he can't manage more than a nod as his hands fist at his sides.

"You said everyone was okay because you _knew_. You knew I wasn't ready to hear it. I couldn't, or I would have… _I_ _couldn't_."

She swallows, swipes shakily at her tears and takes a tiny step forward, then another and another, and she's so close he could touch her, but he's waiting. Waiting though his arms ache with the need to hold her, have since their last goodbye, have since the very first time, when comfort was an unthinking thing and her little girl was a loss they both bore. "Said there wouldn't be nothing of you left. Can't lose you," he shrugs. "No more 'n you say you can lose me." Her proud chin quivers with his quiet revelation, and she smiles, sweet and gentle-like, happy through her tears, like she did that last night with the fire glowing all soft around her, and his hand lifts of its own volition. He wants to capture all her smiles, tuck them—and her—away for safekeeping, and his thumb gives her skin the kiss his mouth is still too shy to ask for. Oh, but it wants to. It trembles with the need, fierce and true, and he doesn't realize his own tears have fallen until her battered knuckles brush against his cheek and a sobbing sigh wrenches from his lips. "Thought I had. In that cell. And later. When Morgan said…thought I had, and I didn't…too much of a pussy to even tell you…."

Her forehead presses in tight to his then, and their lashes and their tears touch. Her fingers curl around the hand cupping her face, and she shakes her head as she pulls it down, traps it between them and rests it over her heart. Her own hand rests light as a butterfly's wings against his chest. "Feel that? We're still here. You and me. We're still here."

Beneath her knight's armor, underneath her clothes, just skin to skin, he _does_ , and it's steady and strong. "Trying?"

"Starting over."

* * *

 **333**

* * *

Candles burn in the bathroom, warm flickers of light like fireflies dancing in the mirror's reflection as she tends to the worst of his wounds. The antiseptic from the first aid stings, but it's her gentle breath blown across his skin that makes him shiver. Her careful touch that has him tightening his fingers around her waist, not in pain but restraint. She's so damn close. So warm and alive, stripped of her armor and defenses, and Daryl only wants her closer, but the day has been long, the fight a hard one, and he won't erase the small distance remaining between them and an intimacy they have long been falling toward no matter how much he wants to. Not tonight. _Not_ _yet_. The thing about Carol, though? She's stubborn. Has been from the start. Whether it was 'bout surviving marriage to that asshole husband of hers or bucking Rick's assumed authority, ain't nobody going to be telling her what's what. Not when she's got a notion in her pretty head. He stills her hands when they fall to the buttons of his shirt, rasps out a few rough words. "Hey. You don't have to."

The corners of her mouth tick upward, but only for a moment, brief as a breath. "Your shoulder. Morgan said…"

His thumb strokes the back of her hand, and the lies fall pretty from his mouth. "Ain't nothing." But it _is_. It's a constant reminder. A dull, throbbing, ever-present ache and pull beneath his sorry skin that whispers regrets and could-have-been's. Shouldn't have been out there, going off all half-cocked on a mission to turn back time. His efforts to make Dwight pay hadn't amounted to much of nothing, 'cept getting Glenn killed in the end. Because that's what he keeps coming back to. If he'd never left Alexandria's walls that day, his friends wouldn't have followed him. And if they hadn't have followed him, they wouldn't have been out there, easy pickings for Negan's goons. If Negan's goons hadn't captured them, well. If, if, _if_. It all comes back to his shitty choices, and he's done his dwelling. Enough to last a lifetime in that cold, dark cell. Enough to know if another chance presents itself, he's going to do things different. Starting with the woman eyeing him with such concern, and the grudging admission comes easier than expected. "Sore sometimes. Like a bruise that won't go away. Nothing I ain't dealt with before."

"Let me see?"

Her eyes bore into his own, soft with understanding, shiny with renewed emotion, and he's found his stars, gets lost momentarily in their endless galaxies until her touch grounds him again. Taking a shuddering breath, he gruffly gives his permission, little fires sparking to life beneath the tender touch of her fingers as she peels the dirty fabric from his wounded skin. The scar's healed ugly. Ain't much different from the rest of 'em in that regard, 'cept the ones she stitched closed with her own two hands, and it's not much to look at. Just like him. But she's looking, she's staring, and there's sadness pulling at her mouth. Wet sparkles clinging to the shadow of her lowered lashes, and fuck this shit. She's cried enough over him. "S'okay." He brings her hand to his mouth, brushes kisses and reassurances against the warm life lines of her palm. "M'okay. We're still here. You said that, 'member? N' we are."

She nods. Blinks back her tears. But they come anyway. They just keep coming, and the fingers of her other hand stroke the scruff on his chin, his face. "I shouldn't have…"

He tugs her forward, nestles his nose deep in the well of her throat and wraps his arms around her, tight and unrelenting. "No more of _that_. We're here now. Not back there and not worrying 'bout tomorrow yet, okay? We're here, and you're staying. Least for tonight."

Her arms slide around his shoulders, and her fingers thread through the shaggy strands of his hair as she presses a fierce kiss of promise to the crown of his head, whispers an affirmation. "I'm staying."

* * *

 **333**

* * *

Sleep comes slow to Daryl. Rick's rallying victory speech still echoes in his head. Judith's quiet murmurs down the hall make his exhausted muscles tense to readiness. And the soft breaths of the woman curled up next to him in his big, not-so-empty bed? Well, if his mind won't shut off, his heart is even slower to accept that this ain't a dream. That he's not back there, locked in that dark box, dreaming of home. Because home ain't a place. Never has been. Home's his family. Home is her, and fuck if he's worth a damn if any of them ever leave or are taken away from him again. He can't handle another Denise. Another Glenn or Abraham. Another _her_. 'Cause it don't matter shit if she comes back, if she stays, if she don't know exactly how he feels 'bout her. It's time he started living instead of just surviving. Starting _now_. He walks his fingers across the cool sheets, covers and claims her smaller hand with his own. "You sleeping?"

"You?"

There's a smile in her tired voice, an echo of lightness he hasn't heard since they left the state of Georgia in their rear view, 'fore that even, and his heart stumbles a little in his chest. Picks right back up double time, and the playful, groaning response might have a little rust on it, but it's largely automatic. "Stop."

She tucks her smile into her pillow, regards him with blue eyes that glimmer and glow in the shadows, murmurs an apology. "Sorry, Pookie."

He feels like a fucking pussy, but it's the nickname that does it. That opens up the floodgates. Because _hell_. He's missed it. He's missed her. He's missed being Rick's go-to when there was a problem too big for one man to call the shots alone, catching Glenn and Maggie up in the watch tower, Beth singing one of her songs while the old man watched her with all the pride a daddy should have for one of his own. He's missed taking turns with Judith and shooting the shit with Carl. That Prison, those people, _her_? They were his first _real_ home, and fuck if he knows how to put it into words, but he's going to try. "Wherever you go, I go."

She turns her hand over in his. Squeezes. "Daryl. I told you…"

He swallows back the flood of emotion that presses at the roof of his mouth, makes his eyes grow warm, and lifts his chin stubbornly in the air. "You're staying. I got that. Know you mean it. Know you even think you mean forever. But if you don't? If you wake up one day and decide to change your mind..."

" _Wherever_ _you_ _go_ , _I_ _go_."

She gives his hand a little tug, curls it around her cheek, and fuck if she ain't crying again. Without thinking, Daryl draws her closer. "C'mere." Pulls her snug against his chest, and the hard jut of her chin rolls across his collar bone as she lets it all go, all those hopes left long buried. All those hurts that never should've happened. Her soft silver curls tickle at his nose, and he breathes in the sweet, clean scent of her. "M'sorry. It's just…you're my home. You get that? You're my safe place, and I…dammit, I…"

Her mouth finds his cheek, and it lingers there, all curves and softness. All happiness and smiles and salty tears. "You're my home, too."

* * *

 **333**

* * *

The Virginia sunrise sneaks up on them. Daryl stirs awake to her hand folded in his. Their fingertips kissing and retreating over and over against the rise and fall of his chest. Her quiet hum of contentment. One long leg is thrown over both of his, and her nose is nuzzling his neck almost absently, and the embers of a fire long banked start to glow. Lick heat up and down his veins, and his groan rumbles deep. "Mornin'."

She kisses the fluttering pulse point at his neck, drags her nose along the strong line of his jaw, and lets her lips brush the shell of his ear as she returns the favor. "Morning."

Faint sunbeams spill through the window, and her eyes are luminous. So very blue as they search his face. As they smile down at him just before her lips do, and he breathes in her joy. Keep his lips still and soft against the gentle, curious kiss she places upon them. Watches her retreat and bite those same lips between her teeth, soothe them with her pink tongue, and the unconscious gesture has him whimpering. Surging forward and tangling his hand in her hair as he holds her to him, licks into the sweet recesses of her willing mouth. When it is finally over, she is completely in his arms. All her soft places melting against him, and Daryl's head is falling back against his pillow, his breath escaping him in harsh pants. His lungs burn, and his heart thrums loudly in his ears. "Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_."

"Need a minute, Pookie?"

Her words are teasing, but her face is serious, and Daryl palms her cheek. Rubs his thumb across the faint constellation of freckles there and pulls her to him again. This kiss is another mere meeting of lips, a wordless give and take, and he groans when her fingers catch the worn cotton hem of his shirt. Wander beneath it. Her nails trace swirling nonsense patterns over his scarred skin, her knee drags restlessly against the seam of his pants, and _dammit_. He's going to come and he hasn't even gotten her shirt off yet. He traps her hand beneath his own and whines. "Offer still stand?"

She pouts prettily but complies, silences her laugh behind the arm thrown across his chest. Wiggles her fingers against his waistband. But she stills when the seconds stretch on. Her face shutters and falls.

Her hand tries to withdraw, but Daryl ain't having it. He rolls her beneath him and kisses the sweetness back into her mouth, sighs raggedly against her collarbone when her hands find his hair and he works her borrowed sleep shirt up her soft belly. Trails his mouth and his whiskers across her skin and makes her shiver. "This okay?"

* * *

 **333**

* * *

It's all sensation after that. Feelings long buried unleashed. Curious lips. Teasing teeth. Playful tongues. Hands that hold and touch and leave Monet's in their wake, everything a dreamy haze.

Daryl's broad shoulders work their way between her legs, pale and strong and quivering with anticipation. His hooded gaze locks on hers as he lowers his head for that first taste, and his rough hands are gentle ghosts along the backs of her ticklish knees, the petal softness of her inner thighs. He takes her apart, piece by aching piece, with his eager mouth and his graceless fingers, and _fuck_. It's not enough. It can _never_ be enough. Not the desperate clench of her toes along his spine. Not the helpless roll of her hips, chasing the promise of another roller-coaster high. Not the hoarse screams muffled against his pillow or her hands pulling at his hair. It's not enough so he builds her back up again, loves her until she's weak, until she's going up in flames, and she's consuming him. Just like he always knew she would.

She laughs when she comes back to herself, the back of her arm resting against her sweaty brow. Her stomach muscles flutter weakly with the effort, and the aftershocks of her release. Her toes drag across his skin, and the hand still in his hair scratches gently, affectionately at his scalp. "Somebody's been holding out on me."

Daryl's mouth curls into a little half-smirk, and he rubs his damp, bristly cheek against her thigh. The unconscious gesture earns him another blissful smile, another musical laugh, and he nuzzles the sharp juts of her hipbones. Drops absent kisses there. "Stop."

"What if I don't want to?"

"You better," he warns. But it's half-hearted, and she knows it. The years and the hurt fade away, and she's the same woman that stood on top of a bus and teased him beneath the Georgia moonlight about screwing around. Whispering a long-overdue kiss across the well of her navel, he spans his hands across the curves of her waist and settles in, his warm weight pressing her boneless body into the sheets that lay tangled around them. His painful erection resting between them. "Kept my end of the bargain. You gonna live up to yours?"

She drags one of his hands to her breast, urges it to cover her heart. "Feel that? I'm going to need a minute to recover. I'm not some pretty young thing anymore."

He thumbs a pink nipple, drops his head to press a hard, breath-stealing kiss upon her lips. "Think I care 'bout that? Young done passed me over 'fore the dead starting walking." Their noses touch, _tease,_ and his blue eyes are intense. Truthful as they search her own. "You're fucking beautiful. Brave. And smart. And I…"

She cuts him off with a kiss, her lips soft against his mouth. Overwhelmed tears welling in her eyes. Her hands cup his dear face, and her knees press into his sides. "You don't have to say it. I _know_ you. I feel it, too."

He shakes his head. " _Need_ to. Want you to hear it."

"Okay. _Okay_."

"Love you. Have for a long time. _Will_. Til my days run out."

* * *

 **333**

* * *

 _Outside his bedroom window, a battlefield still burns. Fading flames and ash. Thin curls of gray smoke that let the sun peek in. Bodies and destruction still there. Still a reminder of all they have lost, but inside? She rises like a phoenix from the ruins as she welcomes him into the haven of her body. Into her mending heart._

* * *

 ** _333_**

* * *

 **Forgive me. This started as a drabble last night for my Say the Word series. A little something I was working on to get the creative juices revved back up to finish Stupid Cupid. But the blasted thing grew legs, lol, and decided it wanted to be smutty. And omigosh. I've been drowning in Caryl feels since last weekend, and I thought why not?**

 **Typos are all mine. Dumping this off here and crawling to bed.**

 **Enjoy!**


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